Shivering
by Tam Cranver
Summary: Shortly after the events of "War Stories," Wash is having trouble dealing with what's happened. The rating is for vague mentions of sex and violence, and some distress.


Disclaimer: I own nothing, as usual. Joss Whedon owns the characters, situations and background information—I own only my own interpretation of the events and characters' emotions.                                        

He can't stop shivering.

It's been hours since Zoe came and pulled him out of hell, and the captain came back safe and sound, and everything ended happy. So why can't he stop shivering?

Simon patched up his hurts gingerly; put cool creams on his burns and an ice pack on his black eye. Wash wanted to cry then, to say _I'm alive _and _I'm scared_ and _I hurt, but there wasn't the time. Mal was as close to dead as a person could be and still be spitting at his crew about how stupid they had been to come and save him. Kaylee was scared of the blood and the shooting, and her eyes shone with tears. Simon was shaky and weak at the thought that he might have killed someone, and Zoe was as tight and firm and unyielding as the ropes that had bound Wash and Mal to each other and to the stake and to the madman laughing in their faces. There were more important things to deal with. Wash could wait._

And later, when Kaylee was smiling and Mal was sleeping and Simon could roll his eyes with condescending sarcasm at Jayne again, Wash had lost the words for what he was feeling. Shepherd Book had offered to take the helm for him, but Wash had turned him down with a grin and a laugh. It was his helm, he'd said, and a little thing like being kidnapped and tortured wouldn't stop him from doing what he was paid to do.

But now he is alone in the dark, cool silence of the cockpit, and he knows he has to control himself, but his hands are shaking so badly he can hardly press the buttons on the control panel. He sits on them, and hates himself. Why had Zoe chosen him? He isn't stupid. He knows it wasn't because she loved him more. It was because he was weak, and she knew it, and she knew the captain was so much stronger he could take it and live. He curses himself for being so weak that she'd take _him out of there to leave the captain to the tender mercies of the man with the knife in his hand._

He can feel the tears start to burn his eyes, and he presses the heels of his hands into them, hoping to stop the crying before it starts. _Stop it, he tells himself. __It wasn't so bad. It was nothing __compared to what Mal went through. Just a little shock here and there, a stupid black eye! No big deal! He tells himself that, and some distant part of him listens, but not the part that makes his hands tremble, because they're starting again._

He tries to forget, but he can see the gleam of light on Niska's glasses, and can smell the sweat and blood on his Hawaiian shirt. He can still hear Mal desperately insult him and snipe at him in order to keep him from succumbing to pain, and he hates himself again. Why couldn't he have done that for Mal? Why was he the one that needed protecting? 

"Hey, baby," a voice from behind him says, and his heart almost stops in its chest and he feels like he's dying for a moment. _Don't be so morbid, he tells himself. __You're alive. But it's Zoe, and he can't bear to have her see him like this. He never meant to be Zoe's weak little husband—he wanted to be the one who was there for her, the one who soothed the dreams of battle from her aching shoulders and the memory of death from her eyes. He wanted to be strong, as strong as her, even. But here he is, a sad little man shivering in his lonely cockpit. He can't stand the thought of seeing pity or contempt from her, so he sits on his hands again and pastes a grin on his face._

"Hey," he says, and he's surprised at how calm his voice sounds. He turns his head around to look at her, but the light is coming from the corridor behind, and he can only see her silhouette.

She crosses the room and places her hands on his shoulders, softly rubbing, and Wash can feel the post he was tied to, and how it scraped the skin from his back when he tried to wriggle away. "How're you doing?" she asks, and her voice is soft and smoky, and he almost wants to laugh. 

_How am I doing? How am I doing? _He keeps the hysterical shake out of his voice and says, "I'm fine." He almost sounds it, too.

He can almost feel her frown in the dark. "Are you sure?" she asks. Again with the rubbing. He shivers under her touch, and his breath catches in his throat.

_I'm sorry for being such a weakling and I'm sorry I didn't understand and I'm sorry I let Mal get captured and how _could _you pick me when you knew he'd die and how _could _you have secrets between you two that you won't tell me and I'm scared and I'm cold and hold me. I want to feel your arms around me and I want to kiss you 'till the shivers go away. That I'm sure of,_ he wants to say. But he can't, so he starts to say, "Sure, I'm sure," but he can't quite get the words out around the lump in his throat. Dread fills his chest, and he panics. _God, I never asked you for much, but please don't let her see me cry…_

Zoe's hands are warm as they move from his shoulder to his chest, and now he's shivering for an entirely different reason. He wants to wrap his arms around her neck and pull her head down so he can kiss her. He wants to stand up straight and pull her with him to their bunk so they can shed their clothes and spend the night warm against each other. But then he thinks, _she'll see the burns, _and then he thinks of when he was so close to blacking out and he hears Mal saying, _I'm gonna take your wife into my bed_.

The thought of it now is so ludicrous, he wants to laugh, but it comes out sounding like a sob, and Zoe's voice is worried but not surprised as she says, "Wash?"

He tries to tell her he's okay, but he keeps thinking of the electrodes sharp against his chest and how he jerked like a fish out of water when they were turned on. He keeps feeling the gun in his hand and the bile in his throat when he saw what Niska had done to Mal. He keeps seeing Zoe, not in the cockpit, but in Niska's lair, and how she looked as calm as if they were negotiating over the price of eggs instead of the price of men. And he tries to tell her all this, but he finds that none of it's making it through the tears that suddenly have no reason to hold back.

And then Zoe has moved to the front of the chair and has wrapped her arms around him, and he's crying into her breast without once thinking about how he would have _killed to be in this position his first week aboard the ship. Her voice is soft in his ear, and he's shivering again, but she's smoothing the gooseflesh with her fingers. He can feel her hair slipping loose from her ponytail to tickle his face, and he starts crying even harder when he remembers how he thought he'd never get to touch her hair again._

"Shh, it's all right," she soothes, and he looks into her face to see if she's annoyed that she has to comfort her husband like this, like a small child who's skinned his knee. But she doesn't look annoyed; she looks scared and sad and loving, and he pulls her to him in a hug. 

"I love you," he says hoarsely, tears still filling his voice, and he hopes she knows that she's his fiery angel and his heavenly light and his ideal woman and the gadfly that stings him to greater heights.

"I know," she says, rubbing his back. "I love you, too." 

She knows. He understands. The moment is not as happy as he had once hoped it would be, but at least he has stopped shivering.


End file.
